Errant nipple on white
mound of silence, hot blood rising
swollen creek in spring flushed
maiden, thick-lipped stomach
tight as a drum.

Mistress of loneliness, you’ve
set my finger on fire
and all I can do is
take you to me
and wed you to my
dark plum heart
which beats and beats
for you to feel you.

You nurse me feed me
sticky sweet
dumplings. Night
of a full moon you
might think my blood
was honey. Honey,
just like you, gummed up
and precise, a red
throb in the night, my
little hurt thin ecstasy.


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